Malfoy's Problem
by NeverNik
Summary: Malfoy is acting in a very un-Malfoy-like manner, and people are noticing. Could it have something to do with Granger? Part One of the Show and Tell series. M for sex scenes and swearwords. Winner of 2018's Hermione's Haven Award for Best Series.


**Friday**

'Mr Malfoy, I'd like a word with you, please!'

It's Madam Pomfrey, dispenser of kisses to whiny First Years with scraped knees and withholder of much-needed pain relief when one presents to the hospital wing with a serious hangover.

What does the silly old bat want?

I pause in my journey to Transfiguration class. (Crabbe and Goyle, the buffoons, haven't noticed I'm no longer with them). Pasting on the smile I reserve for the senile and incontinent, I turn and watch the Matron bustle towards me.

She ushers me into an alcove, a charade of privacy. Since I'm now taller than her, I turn my back to the gawkers meandering past and ask how I can help her.

Her brow furrows. 'You just don't seem yourself, you see.'

I mentally eye-roll. 'You'll need to be a bit more specific than that if we're to have a satisfying conversation, Madam Pomfrey.'

'Well, just this morning at breakfast I distinctly noticed you engage in no less than three very out-of-character activities.'

Breakfast? I scratch my head, thinking back. I drank coffee, ate toast, got on with my life.

'For example,' Madam Pomfrey continues, _sotto voce_ , 'you helped two First Years finish their Potions assignment, albeit after you asked what their infernal snivelling was in aid of. Then you picked up and handed Mr Longbottom's text books after he tripped over – without a single insult! And finally, you offered to loan your best broomstick to Ms Weasley for Quidditch practice after you heard that hers was in the shop!'

Madam Pomfrey raises up on tip-toes and rests a cool hand on my forehead. 'Do you have a fever at all? Or any other ailments? You can be assured of my absolute discretion.'

Resisting – with great effort - the urge to bat her hand away, I assure Madam Pomfrey there's nothing wrong with me. As Head Boy, I need to set an example. That's all.

She looks suspicious, but she eventually let me go, and I make it to the Transfiguration classroom within the absolute nick of time.

The only seat left is next to Granger. I slide into it while she inspects her quill like it's the most fascinating thing on earth.

* * *

'Mr Malfoy, I'd like a word with you, please.'

Wonderful. First Pomfrey, now Snape.

I gather up my books and head to his table while the rest of the class stream out.

'Yes, sir?'

Professor Snape looks decidedly uncomfortable. Eventually he comes out with it. 'Your behaviour, of late, has been…'

'Out of character?' I guess.

Snape glares. 'Disturbing.'

'How so, sir?'

'Up until recently, you have never turned down any opportunity to torment Messrs Potter and Weasley at their ill-judged efforts to create anything that remotely resembles what I instruct them to make. Yet today, the Terrible Two managed to splash Merlin-knows-what all over themselves, rendering them _bald_ , and you didn't say a single word! Just looked to see what the disturbance was, and continued working with Ms Granger. With whom you did not fight, by the way.'

Snape looks at me with a great deal of trepidation. 'As your Godfather, I understand the position comes with certain -' he coughed – 'responsibilities. Therefore, if you need to, er, you know, well, that is –'

'Talk, Professor?' I suggest.

Snape looks ill. 'Yes, that thing. Then you may… talk… to me.'

Too funny. But I suppose I should release him from his misery.

'I'm fine, sir,' I assure him. 'I must have reached critical mass in my contempt for Potty and Weasel. Unless they manage to blast the school into another dimension, why waste my time?'

I take a step toward the door. 'Will that be all, sir?' I ask. 'Got a prefects meeting to go to.'

Relieved, Snape waves a hand at me. 'Go, go, bother me no more.'

* * *

'Malfoy, I want a word with you!'

Ah. The only and only Hermione Granger, Head Girl. Mad as a snake and bearing down on me swiftly.

'Have you been using my shampoo?' She proffers the bottle in question under my nose.

I'm lying on the settee in the Heads' common room, reading a book and minding my own business. Granger stands in front of me, wrapped in a towel and demanding explanations.

But I was temporarily beyond any. This is my fantasy come true. The Gryffindor goddess, clad in nothing but a towel, hair tumbling over her shoulders, long, long naked legs. Everything is just as I imagined.

Aside from her royally pissed-off expression.

I put my book down. 'Granger, I have absolute respect for your privacy and that of your possessions. Besides, why would I bother with your cheap goods when I can, and do, use the best that money can buy?'

She turns red. 'This shampoo is bloody expensive, you berk,' she spits. 'It's the only one I've found that fixes my hair – ' she stops, biting her lip.

I sit up on the settee. 'Ah, so is this shampoo the secret of your success?' I smirk. 'Just as I was indirectly responsible for your teeth getting fixed, am I to assume that your quest for manageable hair also has its origins in the constructive feedback I've given you all these years?'

She stomps closer to the settee. 'Listen, you, ' she fumes. 'The last thing I would do is tart myself up for your sad, sick, gratification. Manageable hair is practical and healthy, and that's why I use this shampoo, not because I spend all night wandering what the fuck you think of me!'

Ah, Granger. My spitfire.

She turns on her heel and storms up the stairs to the bathroom. A minute later, I hear the shower turn on.

I'm starting to hate tormenting her. Is it even possible for us to…

'Course not. I saw to that, didn't I? Stupid tosser.

* * *

 **Saturday morning**

I need to get to the Quidditch pitch early for the game. I roll out of bed and trudge into the bathroom.

Merlin. The scent of that shampoo is still faintly in the air. Rose and cardamom, according to the bottle.

In the shower, I stare at it, sitting among a pile of Granger's other consumables. I pick it up. She's right, it's pretty light. Maybe I have been taking too much.

I'll just open the top and take a sniff. That won't hurt.

Omigod, yeah. Every time I smell it – the shampoo, or her hair – I'm as hard as bone. I take my cock in my hand, pumping it slowly a few times, while I let the fragrance of the shampoo fill my head.

I speed up, but it's just not right. With a furtive glance at Granger's door, I upend the shampoo bottle and squeeze a small amount into my hand. Then I work my soapy hand up and over my cock, and it feels so fucking good.

I want to come. I reach down and massage my balls as my other hand flies over my hard, hard cock.

She's just behind that door.

Fuck, I'm coming.

Fuck, I'm coming.

Fuck, I'm –

I ejaculate over my hand, my face contorted with the ecstasy of it. I do my best not to make a sound.

Damn it, Granger. All I see is you, now.

Stopped sleeping with other girls because you're all I see when I come. If I come.

I'm probably giving myself an ulcer by not giving all the idiotic berks you call friends the benefit of my razor-sharp tongue.

You're a smart, beautiful woman, Granger. Tell me, how can I undo seven years of bullying and make things right with you?

How in the name of all that is magic do I tell you that I'm in love with you?

Yeah, right.

I step out of the shower, towel myself dry and get ready for Quidditch.


End file.
